


Mockingbird

by LuckyDiceKirby



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:45:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/pseuds/LuckyDiceKirby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You talk to yourself plenty, but right now you'd really rather not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mockingbird

**Author's Note:**

> Written for whoverse_las, for the third challenge, with the prompt: "We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell." - Oscar Wilde

It's very dark.

It's dark and cold and you're _alone_ , so incredibly, impossibly alone.

You've only felt like this once before in your life. But no, you've forgotten about that. Not forgotten, maybe, but put it behind you. You made a choice; you decided that this time around you would stop brooding over it. They're gone. They're all gone, and you have moved on.

"Liar," says a voice. Oh. It's him, of course.

The funny thing about dreams is that you never realize you're in them at first. They've always fascinated you. Perhaps that has something to do with why your subconscious manifests this way so easily. You file it away for later consideration.

Of course this is a dream, and of course the voice belongs to the Dream Lord. The only things around you are knowledge and thought, and if you had ever been a proper Time Lord, those would have been the only things you ever needed. You know that you are the only one here, just as sure as you know that no one will come to save you, that there is no one _left_ to save you.

"And whose fault is that, now, hmm?"

You don't answer. You're not going to dwell on this, because you're not that sort of man. Not anymore.

"Oh, you do _so_ wish that were true, don't you."

Ignore him. Do something else. You've just woken up (well, not quite). Better check and make sure everything's in its place. Legs, yes, fingers, yes. Same ones, too, which is always nice. This is a dream, so maybe it doesn't matter, but you can't help but feel that it's not so much a dream as a reflection of what's real.

"A reflection of who you really are, to be precise."

That isn't what you meant.

"Oh, but it is, isn't it? This is what you are, deep down inside, this is what makes you yourself. The Doctor, renowned by so many young, impressionable people. How disappointed they would be if they only knew that their savior is nothing but a lonely old man."

Stop talking, you say, I'm trying to think. Wait a minute. Say. You have a mouth, too, good, yes. Always need one of those.

"Only if you stop trying to be someone you're not. That's fair, you're always so obsessed with _fairness_."

I'm not--

"Don't be an idiot," he says. "And don't lie to yourself, it's pathetic. You are nothing. You go on mad adventures with mad people, and they adore you. Good thing that they do, too, because what else have you got to live for? Without any of it, without those people or those places, who would you be?"

Nothing but a lonely old man, reliving his past memories. That's all.

You face monsters every day, and you've never been more terrified in your life. He's _you_ , and you're smart, you're very very smart, and what if he's right? You were someone, once, you were yourself, but what if you've forgotten who that was? It's been so long, and there's no one here to remember anymore. No one but you, and you know very well that your proficiency in self-denial is excellent. It's how you've stayed sane all these years.

What if that is all you are, just a reflection of the adventures you've had, the people you've met?

What if--

You have to get out of here. It's a dream but it's so real, and if you're awake you can forget about it, shove him back into your subconscious where he belongs, pretend this never happened. Pretend none of it is true, because it's, it's not. It's _not_.

A reflection. This is a reflection. Like a mirror. Mirrors are so fragile, they crack if you just, just hit them the right way, and you have legs and fingers--

You wake up with a jolt, birdsong still ringing in your ears.


End file.
